he always did
by MarvelNerd4lyfe
Summary: clint barton has been injured.


Clint stumbled, walking the quarter mile to his motorcycle, while holding his hand over a gaping wound to his abdomen. He was about ready to pass out and he seriously doubted that he was going to make it back to the safehouse. His com link had gone down in the explosion so he couldn't contact Coulson. He made it to the bike and pulled his helmet on, groaning as he moved his shoulder.

"Probably dislocated..." he mumbled.

The drive to the safehouse should've taken him thirty minutes, but he made it in fifteen. He tore through the neighborhood and kept going to the dead end. He kept going straight through the illusion of an abandoned, broken down house. He drove for about a mile and then pulled up to a big oak tree that was probably thirty feet across and pressed a knot. A hidden door slid open and he parked his bike. Closing the door he walked one hundred feet to the house. He was barely conscious at this point and struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

Once inside he set the security protocols in motion and went to his phone to contact Coulson.

"Barton whats going on? We have your location now pulled up on screen. Do you need medical?" Coulson sounded worried.

Clint thought about his injuries, probably four broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, that cut on his abdomen would need stitches, and he figured he had a concussion. All in a normal day really.

"Nah Coulson, I'm pretty banged up but its nothing I can't handle. I'll just crash here for a few days and then meet you at the rendezvous point when I can."

"Clint your vitals are dropping fast. I'm concerned."

"I'll be fine Coulson, quit being my mother. I just need to stitch this up and sleep it off and then I'll be as good as new."

"But.."

'click'

He knew that hanging up on Coulson was probably a bad call but he didn't really care, he was too tired. He peeled his clothes off, which was a chore since they were caked on with sweat and blood. He was headed towards the shower in his undershirt and boxers but suddenly the room tilted dangerously and spun out of control. He slammed into the wall, grabbing at it to stay upright. Unfortunately his body was too drained to continue fighting gravity and he fell to the ground. He had time to think "this is bad..." before he passed out.

He faded in and out of consciousness. Cool hands soothed his fevered forehead.

"Mmmh...Tash...?"

"Idiot...why didn't you call for back up?"

"mmmh...couldn't...com...broke...explo..." he passed out again.

He woke up in the tub with cool water running over him.

"Wha? Whe?..."

Natasha Romanoff walked into the bathroom.

"Shhh Clint easy. I'm trying to bring your fever down."

She helped him wash the sweat and grime out of his hair and then let him dry off. She threw new boxers into the bathroom. He changed out of his wet boxers, stood, and leaned heavily on the door frame.

"Sit on the toilet." Natasha instructed. He did as he was told, grateful to be seated. She taped his ribs and he winced at the contact. When she relocated his shoulder he cried out.

"OWWWWWWW TASHA!"

"Well this wouldn't happen if you were careful..." she looked at him concerned "what the heck happened Clint, what went wrong?" she started to wrap his arm.

"They knew I was coming and they prepared for it...I didn't even see them coming before the bomb exploded and threw me against the car. Then they came and kicked me around and it took a while but I fought them off...wait...you're supposed to be in Dubai right now..."

"Yea well Coulson knew you were lying. So he called me in, had Bobbi take over." she finished wrapping his arm and put a sling on. "Clint, I'm going to stitch you up now, and it WILL hurt. I'm sorry in advance but I need you to stay still okay?"

"Okay, lets just get this over with before I pass out again...and Tasha?" she was already pulling out a needle and thread.

"Mmmph?" she questioned as she disinfected the wound and surrounding skin, causing him to inhale sharply. They both ignored it.

"No pain medicine kay?" she smirked.

"Tasha! Promise!" she looked at him, giving him an "alright now shut up cuz here we go" look. At least That's what he thought it was.

She began to stitch him up slowly, too slowly for him, but she was doing her best. He knew that it would need at least thirteen stitches but at around stitch six he was sweating. By stitch ten he buried his face in her neck.

"Tasshh...I don't know how much more I can take..." he groaned

"Shhhh Shh babe I know it hurts, you can let go. I can take it from here okay?" she paused her stitching to cradle his head against her.

"Head...hurts...don't...feel too good...why...?" she felt him slump against her. She breathed a sigh of relief. Resuming her stitching, she made quick work of the last three and bandaged him up. Hoisting him up she half dragged, half carried him to bed.

Once she laid him down and covered him with the thick comforter, she took a shower. She was supposed to be on a plane to Dubai right now but Coulson pulled her out and replaced her the minute he knew Barton was down. She sat down with her laptop and contacted Coulson.

"How is he?" Coulson asked briskly.

"Bad..."

There was a pause and then, "Elaborate agent." He sounded so weary and Natasha knew he was worried. Clint was like his brother. But she didn't sugar coat it, he would know if she was lying.

"He has a fever of at least 103.00.."

She was cut off. "yes 103.4 to be exact, tell me his injuries."

"At least 4 broken ribs, two more bruised. A major concussion. Dislocated shoulder, he also had a gash across his abdomen that required 13 stitches. I also believe he has a sprained ankle and possibly a twisted knee. He was briefly conscious but he slurred most words. He seemed to remember what happened though."

"Do you think he needs medical?"

"It's your call Coulson. I mean he's just gonna rest at the hospital so why move him? He can do that here, besides, I'll be watching him."

"Alright agent. Report if his condition worsens. Coulson out."

She stared at Barton, he looked pretty banged up. She knew he would recover with time, he always did.


End file.
